Maggie Miller eBook

“To learn how much you loved me,” answered
Margaret, to whom this moment brought happiness second
only to that which she had felt when on the river
bank she sat with Arthur Carrollton, and heard him
tell how much she had been mourned—­how
lonesome was the house without her—­and
how sad were all their hearts. But that was over
now—­no more sadness, no more tears; the
lost one had returned; Margaret was home again—­home
in the hearts of all, and nothing could dislodge her—­not
even the story of her birth, which Arthur Carrollton,
spurning at further deception, told to the listening
servants, who, having always respected old Hagar for
her position in the household as well as for her education,
so superior to their own, set up a deafening shout,
first for “Hagar’s grandchild,” and
next for “Miss Margaret forever!”

CHAPTER XXV.

Hagar.

By Theo’s request old Hagar had been taken home
the day before, yielding submissively, for her frenzied
mood was over—­her strength was gone—­her
life was nearly spent—­and Hagar did not
wish to live. That for which she had sinned had
been accomplished, and, though it had cost her days
and nights of anguish, she was satisfied at last.
Margaret was coming home again—­would be
a lady still—­the bride of Arthur Carrollton,
for George Douglas had told her so, and she was willing
now to die, but not until she had seen her once again—­had
looked into the beautiful face of which she had been
so proud.

Not to-day, however, does she expect her; and just
as the sun was setting, the sun which shines on Margaret
at home, she falls away to sleep. It was at this
hour that Margaret was wont to visit her, and now,
as the treetops grew red in the day’s departing
glory, a graceful form came down the woodland path,
where for many weeks the grass has not been crushed
beneath her feet. They saw her as she left the
house,—­Madam Conway, Theo, all,—­but
none asked whither she was going. They knew,
and one who loved her best of all followed slowly
after, waiting in the woods until that interview should
end.

Hagar lay calmly sleeping. The servant was as
usual away, and there was no eye watching Margaret
as with burning cheeks and beating heart she crossed
the threshold of the door, pausing not, faltering not,
until the bed was reached—­the bed where
Hagar lay, her crippled hands folded meekly upon her
breast, her white hair shading a whiter face, and
a look about her half-shut mouth as if the thin, pale
lips had been much used of late to breathe the word
“Forgive.” Maggie had never seen
her thus before, and the worn-out, aged face had something
touching in its sad expression, and something startling
too, bidding her hasten, if to that woman she would
speak.